Should've Been Paid Up Front
by michellejjones
Summary: "I don't usually allow guests. For obvious reasons." Natasha smirks, "Not even fellow teammates?" Bruce looks behind her, at the trees. "So, sounds like this is dangerous, considering you've come to seek refuge with me. Is this gonna take a while?" She glances to her left and right. Then, she leans in. "I'm counting on it." [or, where Natasha went after CA:TWS. Oneshot. Brutasha.]


**I saw _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ yesterday, and when Steve asked Natasha what her plan was and she said she had to figure out a new cover, it sparked an idea. ****So, here we are, and here it is. Enjoy.**

 **Disclaimer:** **I don't own any of the characters used in this work. All goes to their respective owners.**

 **Title:** **Should've Been Paid Up Front.**

 **Summary:** **"You got lousy taste in men."** **Natasha snorts. "Truth is, I'm addicted to a certain kind. When I bumped into an opposite, I didn't know what to do.** **All my friends are violent, a little angry. They're fighters. But along comes this guy who flinches when someone threatens him, because he knows he could beat the whole world; truth is, he just doesn't want to."** **He looks at her green eyes, not quite believing what he's doing. "You should'be been paid up front, kid." A smile;** **"Tell me about it."**

 **Pairing: Brutasha (Bruce Banner x Natasha Romanoff).**

 **WARNING: I've put some quotes from the movies in this. You'll know that they're quotes because I've italicized them and placed them in the center. Have fun with that.**

* * *

 _"What if I said no?"  
"I'll persuade you."  
"And what if ... the other guy, says no?"  
"You've been more than a year without an incident. I don't think you wanna break that streak."  
"Well, I don't always get what I want."_

 **Should've Been Paid Up Front.**

 **by clarabella wandering.**

* * *

The bus drops her off a mile away. She hikes through the undergrowth, her last conversation with her most recent friend replaying in her mind.

 _"You should be honored. That's about as close as he gets to saying thank you."  
_ _"Not going with him?"  
_ _"No."  
_ _"Not staying here?"_

Steve's questioning had been in good nature, but she almost squirmed under the well-intentionedness of it all. Still, she answered him honestly, because, as Clint taught her, friends deserve that.

 _"I blew all my covers. Gotta go figure out a new one."_

She was close. She could see what looked like candle light burning in a looks-abandoned-but-is-not shack, the Mexican humidity curling her hair as she quickly climbed the staircase leading to the building. She knocked.

A smirk overtakes her as she takes in the dumbfounded face that just opened the door. Curly hair (graying in some areas), practical spectacles, and a nervous twitch rolled into an adorable, genius package.

"Natasha," he breathes out, and she feels warm for some reason. "What are you doing here?"

 _"That could take a while."_

"I need a place to crash. Just until I come up with a new plan."

Bruce nods. "I don't usually allow guests. For obvious reasons."

"Not even fellow teammates?"

He cringes, and looks behind her at the trees. "So, sounds like this is dangerous, considering you've come to seek refuge with _me_. How long's this gonna take? A while?"

 _"I'm counting on it."_

Another, more defined smirk. She glances to her left and right, as if preparing to share a secret with the man before her. Then, she leans in.

"I'm counting on it."

* * *

She places the small bag of hers (it has her file, her jumpsuit and weapons, another set of underwear, socks, bras, and a spare shirt) on the table, taking a look around the small shack in which she's found herself. A sleeping bag, unzipped so that it's stretched flat across what looks like a den/bedroom sits by a small fireplace, with a blanket on top of it and books next to it. The kitchen is stocked with fresh vegetables. She looks at Bruce and he blushes. "I, um, picked up some seeds."

She nods in appreciation. "Nice, Banner. I didn't know you gardened."

"I dabble."

She chuckles at his dry retort. "Sorry for intruding."

"It's fine. I just hope you don't have a team outside ready to try and shoot me."

 _"Who are you?"  
_ _"Natasha Romanoff."_

Natasha tilts her head to the side, recalling the first time they met and more recent events. "Not possible."

"Why not?"

A pregnant pause blooms, Natasha realizing that Bruce _doesn't know,_ and Bruce realizing he's overlooked something desperately important."Bruce," Natasha says, staring at him intensely. "I need you to sit down."

It must be the tone in her voice, because he doesn't question her, just sits.

She sits across from him, and reaches confidently (does she know any other way?) for him. He closes his eyes when she does this. The most frightened man in the world, and he lets her reach for him. She calls this a win. "Nat-"

She whispers, "Banner."

"Why did S.H.I.E.L.D. send you?"

He begins to pull away, but she pulls him back, running her hands over his in a manner she hopes is comforting. He's gazing at her, head tilted in silent question as to why she's being so quiet. Curiosity kisses confusion as she coughs back tears.

"Banner," She tries again: "There is no more S.H.I.E.L.D."

Her hands don't shake, but Bruce is smart enough to know it's only to stabilize him. He's never cared for the organization, not really, but seeing the toughest women he's ever known so shaken twists his chest. "I'm sorry. HYDRA had infiltrated." She continues. "I had to... I had to drop all of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s secrets onto the internet, to make sure both HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D. were destroyed. That means..."

It registers in his mind of what she's admitting to being responsible. "My file's out there."

She nods.

His hands fall to the floor. Memories flood his veins of all the monstrosities he's accomplished. He stares at her, the woman who, last time they were in a shack like this, told him he was to help save the world. She'd also told him something else.

 _"And your actress buddy, is she a spy too? Do they start that young?"  
_ _"I did."_

This woman, who's done many things, both good and bad, he's sure, gave up her entire life to keep the world safe. And she's broken a little bit, cracked around the edges, because of this. He can see it.

"So's your's." Bruce glances at her, sees the worry in her eyes. He wonders (he can't help himself) if it's there on purpose.

When she moves her hands from his, though, he thinks he understands. "Stay." Bruce says, "I insist. The least I can do is house you after you saved the world."

"Steve helped. And Sam."

He grins at her, "How fortunate they were to have you on their team."

Natasha thinks that she might just make it.

* * *

He makes a small dinner, giving her a bigger helping than he gives himself, but Natasha says nothing. She is starving, and her stomach welcomes the intrusion that is cheese and eggplant. "Where'd you get the dairy?" Natasha asks him as she swallows the hot food. A sip of water (store-bought) helps the food down.

"Tony." Bruce supplies. "He gave me a credit card."

"So..." Natasha looks at the ceiling. "He knows exactly where you are?"

Bruce looks tormented. "Unfortunately. He's been vacationing to Mexico a lot. Paying visits. So, if he stops by, don't be surprised."

"What shall we tell him?" Natasha smirks as she stabs her eggplant.

Banner shrugs. "I don't care, as long as he doesn't get any ideas."

Natasha's eyebrows hike upwards. "Maybe we should _give him_ the idea."

Bruce chokes on his water. _"Natasha."_ He hits his chest, and she recalls the last time they were together.

A week after Loki and his aliens, she had accompanied him on a walk. They had discussed important things. Apologised for lies and deceptions. Talked about old movies and Tony Stark. It had been a nice afternoon. They had gotten to know each other. It had been fun. Moments had been shared. By the end of it they'd been on a first name basis, considered each other friends, even.

Now, as his beet-red face stares at her, Natasha lets out a slow chuckle. "You can't be serious, Natasha."

"Oh, I am." She finishes off her plate of food, standing to put it by the sink. They'll clean them later. "Why not, Bruce? If we scare him, he'll never tease us."

"Or it could backfire miserably."

She ducks into the den and he follows her. "Natasha, you're not seriously thinking-"

"C'mon, Bruce. It'll be fun. Live a little!" She spins around, eyes bright with a plan. It's been awhile since she's had one.

Under his breath, Bruce mutters, "Last time I did that I turned green."

"Please, Bruce." Natasha's feet dance against the floor.

He can feel his resolve craving.

Unfortunately, so can Natasha.

"Thank you." She smirks again, turning away from him and moving to take off her shirt. Behind her, Bruce can be heard nervously clearing his throat.

"What... what are you doing?"

Natasha shakes her head, "I'm getting ready for bed. I'm not sleeping in my jacket, Bruce."

She can imagine him nodding, and grins to herself as she moves to her bag and places the shirt she's used in it. She'll sleep in the sports bra she's wearing, she decides. She wouldn't want to make Bruce anymore uncomfortable than he has to be. Usually, she sleeps in her clothes, ready for anything. But they're very muddy from her fight across the border, the lift from Melinda May (who was, for some reason, in Mexico), and the bus she caught.

A tap on her shoulder brings her back to earth. When she turns, a purple shirt meets her line of sight. Bruce is holding it out to her. "So you don't get cold." He's glancing at the floor. "And, um, you can use my makeshift bed. I'll just... make do."

She takes the shirt, slowly buttoning it up as she regards the man before her thoughtfully. Tired eyes finally glance up at her. He seems surprised, and glances quickly away, like she reminds him of something untouchable.

"We'll share." Natasha decides. "The bed is big enough for two. We wouldn't have to touch. Is that okay?" She's comfortable with it (comfortable with anything), but doesn't wish to freak out the man.

"Um. O-okay."

They both walk carefully towards the bed, and Natasha takes the spot closer to the fire. She opens her file. Bruce glances at her from his book. His back rests against the wall. "Why do you do that? Every night. I caught you, once, on the helicarrier."

Natasha shrugs. "To remind myself why I need to do good."

Bruce shifts his body so he's facing her. "More good than you've already done?"

The redhead pushes her lips shut, fumbling with the buttons on the shirt she wears. It's his favorite shirt, the purple. He gave it to her without a second thought. Bruce tries not to dwell on this. "Why do you never forget all your incidents? Why do you continually do good?"

Red flashes across her eyes. Green explodes in his veins.

He understands.

When they finally lay down to sleep, Natasha thinks of the beautiful paradox she's found herself in. Reaching into the darkness, Natasha speaks: "I got a call from Coulson. Long time ago."

"What'd he say?"

"He told me to come find you."

Bruce fidgets in the firelight. "I'm glad. That you did, I mean. It helped me."

"It helped all of us."

As they drift off to sleep, Natasha replays the last phone call with Coulson that she had.

 _"We need you to come in."  
_ _"Are you kidding? I'm working!"  
_ _"This takes precedence."_

Bruce shifts, his sleeping form facing her. She turns towards him, seeking comfort in how relaxed he looks.

 _"Look, you can't pull me out of this right now."  
_ _"Natasha. Barton's been compromised."_

She misses him. Her best friend and his family. Glancing at Bruce, she's glad she's here -he needs company, and so does she- but there's always a gap for Clint Barton. She knows he needs time away from anything that represents S.H.I.E.L.D.

She knows that includes her.

 _"Where's Barton now?"  
_ _"We don't know."  
"But he's alive?"  
_ _"We think so. I'll brief you on everything when you get back.  
But first, we need you to talk to the big guy."_

Bruce wiggles a bit, says something that Natasha can't make out. The fire is fading, but she doesn't get up to rekindle it. The gun under her pillow is comfort enough. His legs reach out to touch her bare ones.

 _"Coulson, you know Stark trusts me about as far as he can throw me."  
_ _"No, I've got Stark. You've got the big guy."_

When his arm flails wildly and finally falls across her body, tucking her against him, she smiles to herself. It feels nice, with this man who cares so much about humanity, who strives to help anyone he deems _good._ It feels nice to be tucked against him, not running from him or talking about apple pies with him. Just lying there.

Her eyes widen in unpracticed shock.

 _"Bozhe moi."_

The arm that holds her there feels too homely, she gathers. An almost dangerous homely. She took one walk with this man. She flirted with him the first time they met. And now she's sharing a bed with him, almost forehead to forehead. Natasha moves to pull away, when he murmurs something in his sleep. "Stay." He says, and Natasha knows this is just him dreaming, knows this is wrong.

But it's getting dark and the darkness isn't blind to the lies she tells herself.

In a defeated tone, she whispers, "Oh my God."

Natasha falls asleep.

* * *

A week later, Bruce begins to stir when Natasha pins him down. She moves as if she's still asleep, snuggling up against him, noses touching. Her eyes open slightly when he moves to pull away. Her whisper sends shocks through his body.

"There's someone here."

He immediately freezes, looking at Natasha with panicked eyes. Her green irises meet his and she winks at him, attempting to calm him. Bruce shuts his eyes, waiting for his cue. The monster in his head begins to wake.

When Natasha yells out, "Roll!" He does so, and in a flash she's up, a gun in her hand, hair wildly bouncing.

And then, Bruce opens his eyes.

The Other Guy makes a sound of approval and retreats.

There, in his million dollar suit, sits Tony Stark. His eyes are wide and his face has taken on the expression of a gossiping middle-aged mother. "Oh. My. _God."_ Tony says, doing a spot-on impersonation of Janice from _Friends._ "Who would've thought, the Widow and the Hulk?"

Bruce cringes, waiting for Natasha to begin the charade. Moments pass, however, and when she doesn't retort he opens his eyes to find her still holding her gun at Tony. Finally, she says, "What are you doing here, Stark?"

"Apparently, interrupting a very _boring_ evening. How far'd you get before ol' genius here fell asleep on you?"

Bruce cradles his head in his hands and Natasha rolls her eyes. "What we did is our business."

Tony giggles. "That's cute. After what happened with S.H.I.E.L.D., one would think you'd have learned."

Natasha swallows hard. Bruce finally speaks. _"Tony._ When was the last time you slept? Must've been a while ago considering who you're agitating." He stands, staring at Natasha until she looks at him.

"What?"

"You know what, Natasha." He motions towards the gun, and, very slowly, she lowers it. For a second, they all stare at each other. The redhead in the purple, the curly-haired man in the boxers, and the billionaire in the suit. "Did you bring breakfast?" Bruce asks Stark.

Tony holds up a bag of Texas barbeque. "I had a craving."

"Who's the father?" Natasha retorts.

Bruce sighs, and turns to collect plates. It's bound to be a long day.

* * *

"Seriously, though, why don't you?"

Bruce taps his fingers against the rickety porch rail, looking at the sky with intensity. "Why don't I what?"

"Come back to New York. You can even bring Romanoff. Pep really misses you, man." Tony isn't looking at him. "You'd be safer there. You know that."

Bruce huffs. "What about everyone else, Tony? I can't do that to them. You know I can't."

"You know that's a lie. Avengers Tower's stocked with things to keep you half-dead, should the need arise. It's not that you can't come back; it's that you won't."

The significantly poorer genius gives Tony a look. "That was insightful."

"I'm always there for my psychiatrist."

A knock on the door brings them back to real life, and they turn to find Natasha smirking at them. She had gone into the city, and came back with a new outfit. A simple black skirt and a fitted red shirt. It looked a lot like the outfit she'd worn the first time they'd met.

 _"You know, for a man who's supposed to be avoiding stress,  
you picked a hell of a place to settle."_

"I brought back Mexican." Natasha says, and the two men follow her inside. She sets the burritos before them, "What were you two talking about?"

"Nat," Tony begins, "Can I call you Nat?"

"Does it matter?"

"Nat, Bruce here doesn't want to come home. Convince him that New York City needs him." He gives Natasha puppy dog eyes.

Natasha is unblinking, biting her burrito. Bruce is fascinated at how she doesn't smudge her lipstick. "NYC needs you." It's a simple statement, but Bruce feels betrayed by it.

"No." Bruce states, more firmly than anything he's said all year. "I'm not going. It would take an army to convince me."

Across the table, Tony and Natasha lock eyes. It's unnerving, how Bruce can feel them uniting forces for this one task. He asked for an army, and it seems to Bruce that it's sitting right in front of him. Tony's hands slam onto the table, which makes noises as it wobbles. He stands, "I'm sending someone out here to fix your sink."

"Tony."

"Fine, fine. No sink. But lemme send you some chairs. And junk food. You need it." He gives Romanoff a nod and shakes Bruce's hand. "See you, man."

"Eat something, Tony. And sleep."

"Yes, Mother." He strides out the door, presses the button that gives him access to the suit that makes him Ironman, and flies off.

"That man..." Begins Natasha.

"...has too big a heart." Bruce shakes his head, when all of a sudden scissors take over his line of sight.

"Do ya know a fella who's good with his hands? I'm in need of a trim." She grins at him.

Bruce shakes his head, admiring her old Hollywood accent. "I know a man who knows a thing or two."

He follows her inside.

* * *

"How short do you want it?" The scissors are a little too small for him, but he manages.

"You know how it was when we fought off Loki?"

"Of course."

"A hair longer."

Bruce smiles, though she can't see him, and begins to work. There is silence for a while, until Bruce breaks it. "Can you believe that at one time, you were pointing a gun at me?"

"You started it."

He chuckles, "Technically, _technically,_ you started it when you sent that girl to lure me to that shack."

 _"I have to see the doctor! It's my father!"  
_ _"Calm down. What's wrong?"  
_ _"My father..."_

The little girl -a spy, it turned out- had said her father was sick, lured him into her supposed house. There, he had met Natasha.

"Touche." He can feel her smirk, and grins in spite of himself. "Why don't you want to go back to New York, Banner?"

The atmosphere changes; an icy environment emerges. "Natasha-"

"Don't make dumb excuses. You should be there. Tony needs you. He won't admit it, but he does. And you're not doing yourself any good by sitting by, idling. You should go." Hair falls to the floor.

"What about you?" The last piece falls. He grabs it all to make sure it's even. Once satisfied, he lets it fall across Natasha's back.

"I have to find another cover, Bruce." Natasha stands, grabbing the hand-held mirror that Bruce bought years ago. Somehow, the thing always survives. "You know that."

Bruce groans, "What's wrong with Natasha Romanoff?"

His friend (friend. And here, he only ever thought he'd have Tony) scoffs at him. "That's not what I mean, and you know it."

Standing, Bruce moves to throw Natasha's cut hair in the fire. "You need to face something?"

She nods.

"You need to do it alone?"

This time, her mouth opens. Red lips and white teeth. "Yeah."

"Then why'd you come to me?"

Natasha glances at the ceiling. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

There's a short silence, and Bruce comes to a realization that Natasha's put on his purple shirt again. The sun's going down. He feels himself go into a state of shock when it comes to mind that he likes her hair like that, cut by him. He likes seeing her in his clothes.

Memories flash of when he'd first laid eyes on her.

 _"You brought me to the edge of the city. Smart."_

Natasha stares at him, curiosity -and what looks like nervousness (but she's too clean and cool for that, he knows)- overtaking her gaze. Old movies and Hollywood accents float across the room, and Bruce collapses onto the makeshift bed.

"You got lousy taste in men, kid."

Natasha snorts. "Truth is, I'm addicted to a certain kind. When I bumped into a whole opposite, I didn't know what to do."

He blushes, "What kind is that?"

"All my friends are a little violent, a little angry. They're fighters. But along comes this guy who flinches when someone threatens him, because he knows he could beat the whole world; truth is, he just doesn't want to." Natasha sits next to him, cross-legged. "Never met a guy like that."

He looks at her green eyes, not quite believing what he's doing. "You should'be been paid up front, kid."

"Tell me about it."

When they finally go to sleep, Bruce mentally slaps himself for what he's willingly doing.

Honestly, _he_ should've gotten paid up front.

* * *

Bacon awakes him. He finds packed bags and an outfit lying by his head. A yellow shirt with light-colored pants.

"We're leaving!" Natasha calls at him. She hands him his plate of eggs and bacon, telling him to eat up. "I'm helping you cross the border, then I'm going to head off to Tahiti."

"I hear it's a magical place," Bruce responds. His heart sinks at the thought of her leaving, but he knows it's for the best. A dame like her doesn't belong with a guy like him.

Once breakfast is done, Natasha dresses in the same outfit she wore when she arrived at the hut, but with less mud on it (it's been cleaned). "Sam is meeting us a few miles north of here. We gotta head out. You good?" Bruce has been checking his bag, when he finds the purple shirt, neatly folded on top of all his clothes. Gently, he takes it out.

"You want it?" He doesn't know why he's asked her this; it's a stupid question, but Natasha, to his surprise, looks strangely touched.

"Um, uh, yeah! I'd, I'd love it." She takes it from him. Bruce realizes he's never heard her stammer before; it's cute.

He shakes his head. Not now, he thinks. Not here.

They head out the door, with three bags altogether. Bruce thinks he'll miss that hut.

* * *

Sam is, in all sense of the word, _very_ cool. Wise beyond his years, it's no wonder he and Rogers are friends. He drives them (apparently he flies, too, which makes him even cooler) across the border, all the way to Houston, where Tony picks Bruce up in a private jet.

"Sure you're not coming, Romanoff?" Tony hits her with the question, "There's an opening in security at the Tower." He's being sincere, Bruce notices. For his benefit.

Natasha shakes her head. "Keep the offer open for me. Gimme a couple months."

"As long as it takes." He boards the airplane, leaving Banner alone with the redheaded assassin.

"Have fun avoiding stress." Natasha smirks at him. Bruce grins.

"Avoiding stress isn't the secret."

She cocks her head, "Then what is?"

"I don't want to go, Natasha." He gives the airplane a sour look. It doesn't sit right with him, putting the whole city in danger.

"Neither do I. But they've got all the toys there, Banner. You need this. I promise you do." She leans forward and hugs him. It starts out awkwardly, but soon enough he wraps his arms around her, and kisses the top of her head. Whether he realizes he's done this is a mystery. "I swear."

"Not on your life, I hope."

"I've learned from my mistakes." She leans up to kiss his cheek, and he chuckles. "See you, Banner."

"Soon?"

"See you."

She shoves him towards the airplane, and when he looks out the window, she's already out of sight. "You picked some lady, man."

Bruce gives him a confused look. "What do you mean?"

The billionaire looks exasperated. "To fall for. I mean, you two are meant to play hide the zucchini together -that much is obvious- but, even a complete idiot knows you won't have it easy."

"We haven't _fallen._ We're friends." But even as he says this, Bruce can taste the lie.

It's acid.

"Don't kid yourself, dude. That spider caught you in her web, and you've got her in your grip. You should get paid for all the hell you're about to endure. Have fun." Tony slips on some headphones, leans back, and begins to play some game on his phone.

Bruce sighs. Tony's right about one thing: he _should_ get paid.

* * *

When he sees her again, it's three months later, and she taps him on the shoulder. He's in the middle of _Mr. Smith Goes to Washington_ when she jumps over the couch, snuggling into him shamelessly. Bruce is about to pull away when she says her first words.

"You're surrounded. Try nothing."

He shifts uncomfortably, but obeys. "Want me to start the movie again?

"I've seen it before. You're fine. Besides, I'm smart enough to play catch up."

"I know you are. You forget, I've lived with you."

"Very briefly."

"Ah, yes, one month. Not enough time with you. Woe is me."

A lot happened in one month. He realized he had the hots for possibly the smartest, deadliest, most gorgeous woman on the planet. Tony came to visit. Hair was cut. Bacon was digested. He wraps his arm around Natasha. "How was your thinking?"

Natasha looks up at him, "I found my new cover."

"Is it public yet?"

"Yep. Natasha Romanoff: Part-time Avenger. That's all."

He nods. "Not a bad cover. Straight to the point."

"Thought I'd try my hand at that. Never done it before."

"Thoughts?"

"If I didn't like it I wouldn't be doing this." She wraps an arm around his chest, and he pulls the sheet up around them both. "What about you? How's your life?"

"You came back at a busy time. Tony and I got a call from Capt. He wants us to find Loki's scepter. Apparently Thor told Jane, who told Darcy, who _somehow_ called Fury-"

"-Fury's dead." Natasha stares at him, but when Bruce stares back, unswayed (he ate lunch with the man, for God's sake), she gives up. "Right. Continue."

"As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted..." Natasha gently nudges him, and he grins at her. "Fury got in contact with Rogers, who called Tony, who told me to work on it because I'm apparently much smarter. I just think he's being stubborn about taking orders from Steve."

Natasha rolls her eyes, "I swear, one day some war will go down between the two of them."

"Tell me about it. Worse than our civil war, I bet."

"Wouldn't be surprised." She shuts her eyes. "Any luck?"

"Yeah, but we're trying to dig out all possible hiding places before calling the team in. Speaking of which, if we need Barton, you can contact him, right?"

Natasha nods. "After everything we've been through, I'd hope so."

In an instant, Bruce feels as if he's imposed on something that doesn't belong to him. He doesn't know much about Clint. He's always thought of him as Natasha's closest friend; nothing more. But a few weeks ago, Pepper had said something that had made him unsure...

"He's my best friend." Natasha gives him a glance, as if she's read his mind. "Nothing more. I trust him more than I trust myself; but I trust you, too." Her eyes connect with him. He feels the question.

 _Do you understand?_

And Bruce thinks he does.

* * *

Finally, when they find the scepter, and life's a lot easier than it was that morning, Bruce takes the time to pick out his best suit. He's done a lot of thinking. He's ready, he thinks, now that the most immediate danger is out and life's looking a little bit brighter. After project Lullaby and shameless glances, he's ready to ask her if she likes Indian, if she'd like to go with him sometime.

He has the confidence, in fact, to think that she might just say yes.

When Tony hauls him into his lab, though, a pit settles in his belly that Bruce can't quite push away. Warnings go down the drain as he utters words he later regrets. "Okay." He says, but forgets later on.

There's an empty stool and a beautiful dame tending to it when Tony meets his line of sight. "Go." He says. God, he's already been teased so much, he doesn't know if he can handle much more. But there he is, sitting down, waiting for her to notice him.

"How's a nice girl like you end up in a place like this?"

He cut her hair a few nights ago, and she's styled it beautifully. She touches it now, flutters her eyelashes and looks around the room. "Fella done me wrong," she whispers, solemn. Fragments of the _other_ guy mesmerized by Natasha's touch slip through his head. He still can't believe he let her do that.

A sip of his drink brings him back to earth. Shaking his head, Bruce says, "You got lousy taste in men, kid."

As Natasha takes off into a story about him, he looks anywhere but her. It's astonishing, how she talks about him like he's the best thing since sliced bread. He almost tells her that if she believes that, he's got a bridge in Brooklyn to sell her. But he sews his mouth shut.

Natasha sees things he does not. And, he holds her in a high light, too. For all he knows, she feels the same way.

"... this guy spends his life avoiding the fight 'cause he knows he'll win." Natasha wipes down the table, watches him finish his drink. "So, what'd you think? Should I fight this? Or... run with with it?"

Banner looks at his feet. He wants to ask her if she's busy tomorrow night. But something holds him back. The closest thing he can get out, is, "Run with it, right?" And then, because he's ever-so confident, "Or... what'd he do? That was so bad?"

When she leans forward and whispers, "Not a damn thing," Bruce decides they'll be okay.

* * *

Until they aren't.

 _"He needs you."  
_ _"Needs me in a cage?"_

When everything goes wrong and he finds himself on a farm with little _children_ running around, Bruce stops to think, and Natasha lets her guard down. Lets him brood as she plays with children. It slips past her; it's a mistake.

A deadly one.

 _"Nobody's gonna put you in a-"_

He shouldn't be doing this. Not with her. Shouldn't be accepting all these lies that they'll be okay. With him, there is no okay.

 _"STOP LYING TO ME!"_

But when Natasha finally catches on, she tells him how he is not the only monster to take refuge in this house. Bruce believes her. She's only lied to him once.

He believes her until it becomes twice.

In the midst of his anger, he knows she didn't really lie, but it _stings_ him. He wishes he could jump off the face of the earth, but he knows what would happen. He's\ just been pushed off a cliff, after all.

 _"I got low. Didn't see an end.  
So, I put a bullet in my mouth and the other guy spit it back out.  
I moved on. Focused on helping people.  
I was good, until you dragged me back into this freak show and  
put everyone here at risk!"_

He's angry, already, when she pushes him off that cliff. When she betrays him (she didn't, not really, but it feels that way. It does). And oh, he takes it out on all the robots he can.

 _"That's my secret, Captain. I'm always angry."_

The world is rising around him, but he doesn't care. Bruce Banner (or the Hulk. Same thing, really) is confused and betrayed. For him, that's love. I adore you, she said. I adore you. He realizes that she means both of them, the monster and the man, but he doesn't want it to be so. He doesn't want her to see him like this.

Who would?

Natasha shakes her head, like she's saying _I'm sorry_. It's too late for that. She moves to lead him back to his humanity, but when he sees the danger-

-he can't stop himself from loving her.

Later -much later- when he finds himself on board a small ship, flying over the sea, he sees her face. Angry green against shaken green. "Please, if you'd just-"

He can't hear this. He put her in danger. He can't face her until he feels he's okay with himself.

As the alarm goes off (low on fuel, apparently), Bruce comes to the conclusion that some demons have to be faced alone.

 _"Should've gotten paid up front, Banner."_

* * *

The wall is blank.

She shouldn't be staring.

It's a friendly shade of black, though. Not green like the rest of the world or purple like the shirt sitting on her bed. She'll sleep in it, tonight. She can't help herself. It's a habit, a craving.

Natasha's never been good at giving up cravings.

"He probably made it out and swam to Fiji." Nick glances at her, at the woman who he considers the closest thing he's ever had to a daughter. "Nat. He'll send a postcard."

She stares at her hands.

"Wish you were here."

* * *

 _"I can't have this. Any of this.  
There is no place on Earth where I can go that I'm not a monster."  
_ _"You know what my final test was, in the Red Room?  
They sterilized me. Said it was one less thing to worry about.  
You think you're the only monster on this team?"_

* * *

 **Reviews would be extremely helpful. Thanks for giving me a read!**


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